Hey, everyone. "Moriarty" here with some Rumblings From The Lab.
I’m still struggling to get my reviews of ADAPTATION and ABOUT SCHMIDT onto the page. They’re both meaty films that deserve serious write-ups. I know that after Beaks and I saw this, we were both so rattled that we didn’t really have a chance to talk. Any writer who sees this film is going to be deeply affected, although I think it’s a more universally approachable film than that suggests. Nice to see Beaks do such a good job of sorting it all out...
ADAPTATION (d. Spike Jonze, w. Charlie & Donald Kaufman)
Trying to get my head around Jonze & Kaufman’s ADAPTATION (and I’m going to continually refer to them as “Jonze & Kaufman” because I sincerely hope this is but the second in a long series of collaborations between these two sick bastards) is proving as insurmountable a task as finishing, *really* finishing, one of my screenplays, which is not at all surprising since the diseased mind being dissected and, essentially, bifurcated in this film is that of a self-loathing, doubt-ridden screenwriter. There are going to be a lot of tormented individuals seeing far too much of themselves in this film, and there will probably be many more people complaining, just as Kaufman does in the film, that it is pretentious, solipsistic onanism, and both camps will be right. That doesn’t make it any less brilliant; it just severely limits the film’s audience.
My initial response to this film was one of – wait for it – elated violation; i.e. a curious sense of relief at seeing my own insecurities as a writer splashed across the big screen with all the bluntness of a Rorschach blot. Unlike Fellini’s 8 ½ , which similarly examined the psychosis of a filmmaker’s agonizing attempts at following up brilliance, Kaufman eschews the nom de plume and bravely names himself as the protagonist, a liberating gambit that takes a turn for the lunatic when he invents a freeloading identical twin brother named Donald, who decides that he’d like to be a screenwriter, too. This, of course, coincides with Charlie’s being assigned an “unadaptable” book by Susan Orlean entitled THE ORCHID THIEF, which was itself expanded from a fascinating New Yorker article into a tome deemed by some as aimless and long-winded. It’s a challenge roughly on par with Cronenberg tackling NAKED LUNCH; a feat that courts madness every step of the way, which makes Donald’s whimsical attempts at hacking out a three-act serial killer script according to the holy writ of Robert McKee a goading thumb in the eye to Charlie. Ergo, while Charlie writes away from convention – expressing to the film’s producer (played by Tilda Swinton) his aversion to car chases, explosions and people overcoming obstacles to learn valuable life lessons – his own flesh and blood is selling out under the roof subversiveness built.
Within the context of Charlie’s neurosis-laden for-hire gig, the story of THE ORCHID THIEF begins to unfold in segmented fashion, with the author, Susan Orlean (Meryl Streep), inserted into the drama much the same way John Cusack stood in for John Berendt in MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL. Orlean’s passion lies, initially, with exploring the quirks in the story, but slowly she grows more attracted to the quirk at its center, John Laroche (Chris Cooper), a gonzo horticulturist unnaturally fascinated with breeding orchids (his mania is clinically referred to as “Orchid Delirium”). It’s not hard to understand the attraction; though weather-beaten and toothless, Laroche is a wildly intelligent raconteur who randomly tosses off profound insights without even seeming to notice them himself. He’s a shaggy, charismatic antidote to the refined literati Orlean cavorts with on weekends at dinner parties, and it isn’t long before he’s occupying Orlean’s every waking moment as she shapes her piece for the New Yorker.
Meanwhile, Charlie is suffering from creative paralysis, at least, in a traditional sense, since he’s unable to complete his task of adaptation conventionally, though he is writing. The problem is, to break the back of Orlean’s largely narrative-less musings on flowers, he’s written himself into his screenplay, laying his frailties bare on the page. (Of course, we’ve been aware of this since the opening inner-monologue of the film, but, hey, who’s keeping track?) He recounts his abortive attempts to flirt with a comely young waitress (Judy Greer) at a local diner, going so far as to depict himself masturbating to an imagined encounter with her. Once she painfully rejects his halting advances, Charlie trains his sexual obsessions on Orlean, whom he has never met.
As Charlie’s process grows more painful, Donald clips cheerfully along, finishing up his thriller now entitled THE 3, referring to the three personalities of the script’s main character, who, in the obligatory surprise ending, is revealed to be a schizophrenic. In yet another cruel twist, Donald sends the script over to Charlie’s agent (Ron Livingston), who not only loves it – figuring he can nail down a seven-figure deal easy – but also suggests Charlie bring on Donald to help him finish the long overdue ORCHID THIEF adaptation. Fearing Donald’s adherence to the McKee scripture, Charlie opts instead to fly to New York to meet Orlean. But he’s still too timid to approach her, so, as a last ditch effort to make this connection, Charlie brings on Donald to interview Orlean, and, eventually, help him finish his script, which is where the film’s disparate elements – Laroche’s story, Orlean’s story of *writing* Laroche’s story, and Charlie’s story of *writing* Orlean’s story of writing Laroche’s story – dovetail in a collision of realities that, perhaps, could only be united by the convention-bound Donald.
One of the most welcome services provided by ADAPTATION is the return of Nicolas Cage as an actor to be reckoned with. In the years since his Oscar win, only John Woo has seemed to know how best to utilize Cage’s volatile emotional range, while other directors have straightjacketed him into dull leading man roles that seem to bore him as much as they do us. Given the chance to embody Charlie and Donald – the yin-and-yang of the creative temperament – Cage seems in a constant state of discovery, and it’s a blast to watch him indulging that sense of play with material that matches up to his ability. Through careful variations of physicality and _expression (so much of the latter is done with the eyes), Cage succeeds brilliantly at establishing two fully-formed identities. Without this clear delineation of character, ADAPTATION would have surely been a failure.
Having just as much fun as Cage is Meryl Streep, who hasn’t been able to cut loose like this since DEATH BECOMES HER. Her Orlean is a tentative creature who seems to be constantly stifling her innate curiosity before it awakens the wild child lying just under the professional façade. When she does finally give in to that inner child, via the aid of a powdery floral extract, she’s wonderful. In years past, it’s been easy to forget why Streep has long been considered the finest American actress working today. One need only watch her try to enlist Laroche in helping her recreate the sound of a dial-tone to be reacquainted with her genius.
Rounding out the trio is Chris Cooper, who’s played these rugged types before, but never quite to this vividly sleazy extreme. Laroche is the trickiest character in the film; a survivor of a horrible tragedy who’s almost completely detached himself from humanity, devoting his energies and admiration solely to nature. He should be a cinch with whom to sympathize, but there’s a prurient side to Laroche, as well, as evinced by his tacky foray into internet pornography. It’s to Cooper’s credit that we never lose sight of Laroche as a wounded man, even when the character would rather his pain be removed from the equation.
Much like BEING JOHN MALKOVICH, Jonze & Kaufman refuse to play ADAPTATION as merely a comedy. From the opening moment in the restaurant, where Charlie literally sweats out unfettered praise from a producer, there’s an unbearable sense of desperation lurking beneath the morose surface – a panicked need to belong, to be loved, to *adapt*. It’s on this visceral level that the film connects time and again. Whether it’s Charlie’s doomed attempts at romance, Susan’s longing for adventure, or the tragedy Laroche perpetually suppresses through his mile-a-minute banter, there is, undeniably, a very human heart throbbing in the chest of this picture, which will prove crucial to its finding an audience outside of the art house.
For all of Kaufman’s hand-wringing, ADAPTATION is ultimately about finding our place in this world and feeling comfortable with it. Yes, he really was saying something “conventional”, but in saying it originally and vibrantly, he’s made it seem true.
Faithfully submitted,
